


Incompatible

by bshiat



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: AU with Stargates, John isn't sent to McMurdo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:20:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26295514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bshiat/pseuds/bshiat
Summary: John and his neighbor, Rodney, are having wonderful sex. But Rodney's hiding something, and John can't shake it, he wants to know what this man is hiding, and perhaps more importantly, why he won't date him.
Relationships: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Comments: 10
Kudos: 107





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a McShep version for an older S/R fic of mine. Both inspired by the Tegan and Sara song Living Room.

Just as John's fingers slip into Rodney's waistband, Rodney pulls away from the kiss. John's hand freezes where it is. He's about to ask “what's wrong” - because they really should get back to what they were doing - but he doesn't get a chance to speak.

“I don't do relationships,” Rodney blurts out and it's so out of place that John almost laughs. Until he remembers what they're doing and what that means. “It's just a one-time stand,” is what Rodney’s trying to say.

John hadn't thought beyond this, beyond kissing that beautiful smile and touching every inch of Rodney's body and making him writhe and come undone underneath his--

He's getting distracted. Those blue eyes are looking down at him worriedly. The pout on his kiss-swollen lips looks almost absurd, but is sexy enough to distract John for another moment. Then, John clears his throat.

“Yeah.” He should probably say more. _Say something, Sheppard. Where’s all your charm gone? Rakish, isn’t that what Nancy used to call you?_

Instead of saying anything else, John keeps staring at the half-naked man above him. Rodney has him straddled still, and his disheveled hair and heaving chest aren't doing much for John's ability to think clearly about anything other than what he wants to do with that body.

“Me neither.” _‘Me neither’?! Good job, Sheppard. Very articulate. Be careful, he might swoon and fall off the couch._

Rodney gives John a small, crooked smile, and looks relieved. After another beat, and they’re kissing again.

-

Over the next few months, they fall into a rhythm: Whoever gets back from work first will turn on their lights to signal that they're home. The other will drop by if able. Unless they're too tired, or too late. _That_ is indicated by the lights being turned back off. John had once seen the flip _just_ as he'd gotten home, and almost whined out loud.

It’s very rare for Rodney to be back before John, let alone to have gone to bed. Being stuck at a desk job at Peterson isn’t exactly anybody’s ideal job, but it sure gets John back home early, even with the commute. They hadn’t even asked him why when he’d asked to live away from the base. They’d probably been happy to see him as little as possible.

Meanwhile, McKay somehow seems to work 80 hour weeks as a scientist which John doesn’t even pretend to understand. Probably some corporate job. He’s extra glad he never worked for his father’s company, seeing how tired Rodney is after work most days, and not to mention the conventions and speeches that have him travel for days at a time. Of course John’s used to being moved around - hello, USAF - but it’s not the quite the same thing.

They sometimes have food, if one of them was in the middle of eating. Usually for Rodney that’s a box of pizza, or a TV dinner. They chat for a while, maybe half an hour. Then they have - _amazing, mind-blowing_ \- sex. Never in the bedroom: they never seem to manage to get there before their cocks are out. Maybe they share a post-orgasm drink, then they go to sleep in their own houses. Rodney often says a hilariously polite “thank you”, after. John can think of few things more endearing, and he’s puppy-sat before.

John isn't looking for anything special. _Didn’t really work out for me last time, did it?_ And obviously while there’ve been talks of repealing DADT, he somehow doubts that his already-good-as-dead military career could take that particular blow, if he tried to openly have a gay relationship. Even so, he wasn’t exactly seeking out a fuck-buddy either. When they’d first started, all he'd thought was that he’d been flirting on and off with his neighbor for weeks, and wouldn't he look just delicious moaning underneath him, or on top of him? He hadn't thought about rules, or boundaries. Not quite the John Sheppard style to care about, or obey, rules. And yet, Rodney has silently set them up, and John finds himself following them.

It doesn’t exactly keep him up at night, or anything. But sometimes, when he has trouble sleeping, he finds himself glancing towards Rodney’s house and wondering what it’d be like to live together. He hasn’t had that with a partner in a long time. Waking up in the same bed, and all that.

John doesn’t want a relationship, not really, but he does want to have conversations that last longer than all of five minutes before he has lips curled around his cock, he’s surprised to find. He doesn't want the sex to stop - god, no - but he wants… He wants…

Rodney's lights turn on. John glances at his watch. It's two in the morning. He gives it a few minutes to make sure the other man hasn’t just gotten up for water or to piss. After five minutes, he's convinced. He pulls on a t-shirt, but doesn't bother grabbing his jacket before heading out.

When he knocks, Rodney doesn't immediately answer, even though John’s heard his soft footsteps stop in front of the door. You’d think he’d be too rusty, too far removed from special ops, but apparently old habits die hard, and his ears are sharp as ever.

“Who is it?” comes a hoarse voice after a little while, barely audible.

“Rodney?” John asks, surprised at the tone. Rodney’s on of the loudest men he’s ever met. “Uh,” he amends, “It’s John.” No further sound comes from the other side of the door for a few moments, which is about as much patience as John has, apparently. “Your neighbor,” he adds lamely.

Rodney mutters something that sounds suspiciously like _fuck_. “I’m not feeling well, John,” he says, a bit more loudly. He sounds fragile, and John wonders if he has been crying. _What’s wrong? What happened?_ A million thoughts are running through his head. He’s thinking of the worst things he has seen on the job, not simple explanations, such as Rodney just having the flu. It makes no sense because Rodney’s a civilian and safe in Colorado, but he can’t help himself. Maybe this desk job’s starting to mess with his mind.

“Your lights were on,” John says, and puts a hand on the door, leaning against it. He has half a mind to kick it in, but Rodney’s on the other side. And of course, he wouldn’t just break down a neighbor’s door unwarranted. Probably.

He just can’t shake the feeling of Rodney being physically hurt.

John almost hears a chuckle, but it turns into a coughing fit too quickly to be sure. “I’m sorry,” Rodney apologizes as he regains his breath, still wheezing a little.

“Rodney, I-- Can you open the door?” He thinks he deserves a fucking medal for his patience, but isn’t stupid enough to think that the other man has any obligation to share anything with him. John is nothing to him, barely a friend.

“Not tonight, John. Go to bed.”

John Sheppard, for the first time he can remember since he was twelve, backs down.

“Goodnight, Rodney.”

-

Rodney doesn’t turn his living room lights on for the next few days, and his curtains are drawn. John almost loses his mind, and finally cracks, calling Dave, and telling him all about what’s been going on.

“So,” Dave says slowly, and John genuinely appreciates how hard he’s trying to sound casual. “You’ve been sleeping with your neighbor.” He seems perplexed about the whole deal, as if he’s never heard of sex before.

“Yes,” John says impatiently. “That’s not even close to the point I was making, though.” He’d rather move _on_ from this my-brother-sleeps-with-men thing and talk about the crux of the matter which is that obviously Rodney’s in some sort of trouble.

“You’re worried he doesn’t want to be with you anymore?” Dave asks, having the audacity to sound as if he’s being helpful.

“That’s not what I said,” John says through gritted teeth. Why is he even _trying_ to get advice from Dave, really, about romance? That man practically lucked into an amazing marriage and has been happily married for too long to even remember what dating’s like.

Dave takes a deep, audible breath. “You said he moved into the house next to yours. Then you started talking to him when he flirted with you--”

“Asked me about my car,” John cuts James off.

John can practically hear Dave roll his eyes, as he pauses. “When he _flirted_ with you,” he repeats. “Then you started sleeping him. You got this weird cloak-and-dagger secret-spy code shit because you still insist on staying in USAF despite--”

“Dave!”

“ _Then_ ,” Dave continues, not deigning John's protest with a reaction, “He - what did you say? Doesn’t leave the curtains open?”

“Turn on the lights,” John mumbles, feeling stupid. Dave makes it all sound so _stupid_ and childish when it’s _not_.

“Right. Then he doesn’t turn on the lights, and you don’t get sex for going on three days. Have I got that about right?”

“As right as Airman Snuffy,” John says darkly.

“What?” Dave asks, thrown off.

“Nevermind. You are-- You’re right, in your own assholeish way.”

“I know that gays, you know,” he starts, then stumbles a bit. “Have sex a lot. Or so I hear. But is three days really that bad?” John hopes to god Dave’s face is as red as a ripe tomato right now because the bastard deserves that and more.

He doesn’t answer, not right away, but Dave knows him too well not to see right through his silences, even through the phone. John tries not to care.

“John, what’s wrong?”

 _He’s probably a good father,_ John finds himself thinking. He should visit his niece again, one of these days. Catch up with the family, and all that. Dave’s question sounds sincere and, well, adult-like, without being annoying, even coming from a brother.

“I think he was hurt.” He’s surprised by his own honesty. He has no real reason to believe it, and absolutely fuck all for proof, but deep down that’s what his gut’s telling him.

“You said you thought he was hiding something,” Dave says.

 _So **now** the dickhead remembers that my concern wasn’t about sex at all,_ John thinks, and glares at the wall. Dave’d been doing a fine job of pretending ignorance a few minutes ago. _“Well,_ brother, the thing he’s hiding is-- I think he was hurt.”

Dave hums thoughtfully, but doesn’t speak. He lets silence settle, and doesn’t prod John into speaking.

“I know you think I sound crazy,” John says in the end. He thinks so too.

“I don’t think you sound crazy, John. I think you sound worried.”

“It was just a few sentences, I know, but…” Fuck, John hates how difficult he finds speaking, sometimes. Even getting drunk doesn’t loosen his tongue, it’s always a battle. “He sounded… _Hurt._ Physically hurt.” He pauses. “And it’s not about the three days without -- we’ve gone longer, when our schedules didn’t line up. He works late. And...” He takes a deep breath. “I _am_. Worried.” He lets out a sigh through his teeth, making a weird whistle-like noise. “What’s wrong with me?”

“You like him,” Dave says casually, and John hears him take a sip out of whatever he’s drinking.

John furrows his brows in confusion. “I like him?” he repeats in a deadpan voice.

“Yeah,” Dave says, as if it’s clear as day, as if it answers anything at all.

“And that means I make up stories in my head about him getting hurt?” John can’t tell whether or not Dave’s trying to get a rise out of him.

“Before Jill and I - even now, really - I used to…” He pauses and takes another sip. “When it comes to Jill, I always imagine the worst and the best. I don’t know how to explain it. If she is rubbing her head, I want to take her to the hospital right away, because dear God, what if she has an aneurysm? If she smiles my way, I think she’s thinking of how in love she is, with me.” He shrugs. “When you care about someone, it always seems so… Important…”

“I’ve liked people before, Dave,” he sighs. “Remember my wedding? I wore a tux?”

To John's surprise, Dave isn’t deterred at all. “Not really. You’ve _wanted_ people before - talked my ear off about that one girl in high school - but you haven’t been in love.”

“ _‘In love’_ ,” John scoffs. “We’re just having sex, not looking at white picket fence houses.”

“And this arrangement is because - what was his name? _Rocky?_ \- wants it that way?”

“Rodney,” John says absentmindedly, then frowns. “I guess he was the one who asked,” he concedes. It’s true that although John had agreed wholeheartedly to sex without strings, he hadn’t volunteered for it.

“The way I see it, you like him - more than just for sex - and you don’t know what to do with yourself.”

John doesn’t know what to say to that, so he stays silent. He _is_ fond of Rodney. Fond in a way that isn’t just finding someone attractive. Even his flaws like the quick-fire, angry, arrogant rants about work seem sort of endearing, which says more about how John feels than anything else, really, how that he thinks about it.

“You know, John,” Dave says with clear mockery in his tone, “When you first came out to me, my first thought was worry about you getting bullied. Then I’d thought to myself - no, my little brother’s tough. He won’t get pushed around. He’s brave enough to stand up for himself. Was I wrong?”

John doesn’t bother to answer. Dave’s trying to insult his courage, it sounds like, but he doesn’t see how any of this relates to that.

“Hey, John?” Dave asks, after a short while of silence.

“Yeah?”

”Is it homophobic if I tell you to man up and ask him out?”

”Are you saying it because I’m gay?”

”Uh, no.”

”Then no, Dave. No it’s not. I’d still rather you not say it. It was Jill who asked you out, remember?”

Dave laughs, not at all offended at being reminded at his shy pursuit of Jill, being too nervous to do any actual asking. It’d all worked out, in the end.

“So I just… What, go over and ask him out?” he asks, playing with his can of beer that he has barely touched. It’s getting warm and he wants to drink it less with every second that passes.

“That’s often how it works, yes,” Dave says dryly, then laughs. “Am I giving John Sheppard advice on how to get laid?”

“By a man, no less,” John shoots back, unable to hold back a grin. Dave’s never been a homophobe, or mean, but they’ve definitely never had any heart-to-hearts or discussions regarding any men in John’s life, before this.

“Don’t remind me,” Dave says, still laughing.

-

John catches Rodney as he’s about to get into his car to go to work, just after six. Not that John has gone out of his way to find Rodney’s schedule out. He’s just… Noticed the pattern.

“Oh!” Rodney says, startled, when John steps in front of him on the path in front of his house. He is, somehow, simultaneously drinking from his coffee cup, holding one laptop underneath under one arm, and a second one in his other hand. “Hi, John.” He gives him a small but sweet smile. John wishes it didn't disarm him so easily. He wants to feel determined and annoyed, not… Not _happy._

“Good morning,” John says with fake cheer. “Want some help?” He gestures at the laptops, and stretches out a hand. Rodney lets him get the laptops onto the backseat of his car, then looks around a bit awkwardly.

“Uh, I have to get to work.” Rodney glances down at his watch. “I have a - uh - meeting - in fifteen minutes, and it’s a five minute drive plus eight minute se-- Um, it takes a while to get to the meeting room.”

Rodney’d clearly meant to say something else, but John doesn’t prod further. “Sounds like you’ve got two minutes, then?” he says instead, in as flirty a tone as he can muster. 

Rodney looks at John, then at the road. “Sure,” he sighs. John half-expects him to go into a rant about idiots setting up meetings too early, since Rodney’s definitely been known to go off on tirades about meetings. Instead, Rodney’s uncharacteristically quiet, and leans against the car, waiting for John to speak.

His reaction to Rodney’s disinterest in conversation really shouldn’t be to try and seduce him but, well, here he is. He puts a hand on the car and leans until their crotches are almost touching. “I think I’ll finally get the weekend off, this time--” John is saying when he’s cut off by a loud, pained “FUCK!” from Rodney.

John looks around to see what on earth Rodney might’ve hurt just standing there, but there’s no fire ants on the ground, or anything. Then he notices Rodney’s taking his blazer off as if it’s burning him, pushing John away in the process. After throwing it onto the ground, Rodney looks at the offending garment, but it’s mostly confusion in his expression.

“What can… What?” Rodney's voice trails off. Then his head snaps back up at John. “Getting old,” he says with a big smile. “I stepped on my foot wrong.” He’s a terrible liar. The man has no poker face at the best of times, who’s he kidding with even pretending he could’ve sprained his ankle, what with what he did with his blazer? Again, though, John doesn’t push. He has a mission, here. So instead, he adds it to his mental list of clues about what Rodney’s hiding from him. Could Rodney be carrying something dangerous from the lab? Maybe he remembered it being in his pocket, and-- Yeah, that might explain it, he thinks, because now Rodney’s picking up the blazer by the collar, touching it as little as possible as he throws it over onto the back seat.

By the time Rodney’s settled into the driver’s seat, John finally finds grit. He ducks his head to meet Rodney’s eyes, and starts talking. “Rodney, I was thinking… Do you want to have dinner, tonight?”

Rodney studies John's face carefully for a few moments. “Why?” he snaps. John’s long beyond taking Rodney’s particular form of communication personally, but he could really use some help right here.

“Why not?” John asks with a shrug, trying his best to look uninterested. The broody, aloof bad boy look used to come easy to him, but it feels out of place now, for some reason. “We both eat, might as well do it together.” _Don’t fidget. Don’t fidget._

“Sure,” Rodney says softly then turns on the ignition. “I really do have to go,” he declares. In typical Rodney fashion, the statement doesn’t stop there. “Carmichael is enough of a vampire without me giving him any more reason to--” He stops himself again. “I have to go.”

“Later then.” John tries telling his heart to stop beating so _fast_ , as though it’s trying to get out of his _chest_ , but it won’t listen. He stares after the car for an embarrassingly long time before walking back home.

He should take him to that Indian place around the corner that Dave’d recommended. He’s seen Rodney eat Indian take-out. Or maybe that new Ethiopian place - wouldn’t _that_ seem cultured and interesting?

Rodney has other ideas, however. When Rodney finally makes his way home at seven, John has been tapping his foot on the floor of his living room, fully dressed, for an hour. Rodney _finally_ turns the lights on two hours after that. He’s probably out the door before Rodney's finger is off of the switch.

This time, it doesn’t take long for Rodney to open the door. He’s grinning as he gives John a once-over. “Going somewhere?” he asks slyly. His gaze lingers particularly long below the waist and John’s proud of his choice of jeans.

“What can I say, McKay, can’t seem to get out of the house in anything less than dashing,” John confirms with a shit-eating grin of his own.

“I’m sure,” Rodney says, amused, then steps aside. “You coming in?”

“Weren’t we going out?” John tries not to sound disappointed, but his smile drops. They had _deal_ , didn’t they?

“I thought-- I thought I might make us something to eat, instead,” Rodney says, chewing on his bottom lip and, _oh_ , a gorgeous flush colors his cheeks.

John's grin is back and possibly even bigger than before. “In that case, step aside.” He walks in as if he owns the place, and Rodney chuckles, following after him.

The dinner is a humble but delicious meatloaf with vegetables on the side. An odd choice for a date, John thinks, but can’t complain about the taste. Halfway through the meal, as Rodney pauses to drink water, John grabs his free hand, and holds it above the table. Rodney raises an eyebrow and looks at their hands. He doesn’t move his hand away, but is still looking at it when he puts down his glass.

John, for his part, can’t do much else other than look at that handsome - alright, maybe not traditionally handsome, but _very attractive_ \- face. Does Rodney chew on his lips on purpose every day, to get them puffy like that?

“Er-- John--” he stutters, as he draws back his hand. “Is this--” He looks up at John worriedly, as if he’s a stray dog that might attack him. “This isn’t a date,” Rodney says curtly, bringing John back to real life so fast, the whiplash feels like he’s taking off in an F-16.

John looks around the room as if waiting for people to jump out and yell “surprise!”. Then, he looks at Rodney again. “It’s not?” he asks.

Rodney sighs, and gets up, frowning. “John, I told you, I don’t--”

“That was _months_ ago.”

“And you thought the fact that I never have relationships might have changed in the last few months?” Rodney says angrily. He looks as if he’s about to go off on a rant, but stops himself and is eerily calm when he speaks again. “I don’t do relationships, John. If that’s what you want, I can’t give it to you, so you might as well leave right now.”

“But why not?” John challenges, getting up as well. Is it bad that even now, when he’s looking at the throbbing vein under Rodney's receding hairline, all he wants is to kiss him? “We get along, we have fantastic sex - what more do you want to start dating someone?”

“Things might be that easy for you, but they aren’t for everyone,” Rodney says bitterly.

John’s so angry at the presumptuous dick who’s acting as if John’s _insulted_ him, that he almost doesn’t know what to do with himself. “Bullshit! It’s as easy as you let it be, Rodney. You think it’s more difficult for _you,_ you asshole? I’m in the Air Force!” He wishes he had kept his voice a little lower when Rodney cowers back. He’s still breathing fast, but his anger hasn’t subsided nearly enough for him to apologize. _What do I have to apologize for, anyway? He’s the one being unreasonable._

“I told you what I wanted, and you need to respect that,” Rodney says coldly, looking at a random spot on the floor determinedly.

“And if I want more?” John growls.

“You’ll get it somewhere else,” Rodney says firmly.

“I don’t _want_ someone else.” He’s exasperated, and sounds it. They’ve been dancing around this since they first saw each other, John realizes, so why is Rodney fighting it with such ferocity?

“We were meant to be neighbors who have sex now and again.” Rodney's voice is mostly dismissive, but there’s the obvious lilt of frustration in it. “Not whatever you want this to be.”

“And why not?” Rodney opens his mouth to respond, but John doesn’t let him. “What, you have too much of a social life to fit a boyfriend in there?” He’s snarling and it’s childish, he knows, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s never been a cruel man, he doesn’t think, but he feels cruel now. He knows that Rodney's loneliness _is_ a sore spot because he’s hinted at it enough. Talks about unrequited love interests, how being in university at sixteen was isolating, and so on. Rodney’s proud of a lot of things, his solitude isn’t one of them. He hasn’t chosen to be isolated. John’s not even sure if Rodney’s naturally abrasive, or if that came after.

“I don’t recall you complaining about the lack of company I keep when it meant you get to have sex every night.” Rodney’s trying to keep his voice even, but John can still see that he’s hurt. His eyes are too expressive to hide anything, and the corner of his mouth is dipping.

John laughs darkly. “I could have sex every night with or without you.” He watches something flicker in Rodney's eyes, and delights in seeing the other man’s hands curl into fists. “Not as convenient, I admit,” he continues, “Being ten feet away from it before I even put on my trousers, not having to buy you drinks, not having to listen to boring chatter for long, not having to go out of town if I’m looking for a man...” He can list more, but Rodney has dropped his gaze, and John knows he’s won, so he stops.

Rodney’s quiet for a while, looking around the room with idle interest, as if he were at a gallery, except for the part where he’s flushed down to his neck, and his mouth’s curled downwards in a lopsided frown. John watches him, and feels his breathing and heartbeat slow down.

“You should go,” Rodney says. John’s about to agree when Rodney gives him a small, crooked smile.

 _That damned smile_ , John thinks. He feels angry again, all of a sudden, and opens his mouth to speak, but Rodney cuts him off.

“Look, Sheppard, I understand why you’re upset.” He sounds infuriatingly dismissive again. John would punch him except he loves that face and it would be such a shame to ruin it. “We-- We both need to calm down, and--and--”

“You seem awfully calm to me,” John drawls sarcastically, and keeps his angry eyes fixed on Rodney's scared-looking ones.

“I just know how this goes, John. I can’t do relationships. As annoying as this--” He gestures between the two of them. “Might seem to you, I’d rather do this ten times over than what I know would happen if we tried to have a relationship.” He sighs wearily. “You’re wonderful, John. Handsome, funny, smart... You already know that you’re a catch. And particularly for me, I know I’m not what most would call likeable or easy-going-- But this isn’t about you, so don’t get offended. It’s me who doesn’t do relationships.”

“And why not?”

“They don’t end well.”

“I’m the one who’s divorced. So far, neither of our relationships have worked out all that well. You don’t know how it would be with us.”

“Yes I do,” Rodney says miserably, and John almost - _almost_ \- feels bad for him. Rodney’s looking at the floor again, obviously caught up in a flashback.

“Fuck this. Have it your way, McKay. Be miserable,” John growls, and grabs his jacket. Before he leaves the kitchen, he turns around to face Rodney. “Does this mean--” He _hates_ that he feels the need to ask this. “Can we still…?”

“If you can.” Rodney shrugs, still not looking up.

John’s suddenly by Rodney's side again, kissing him. It’s different than every other time they’ve done this before. It’s not passionate and fun like it usually is, nor rough and playful like they sometimes get. John keeps kissing Rodney because he doesn’t want his lips to be free, he doesn’t want to hear whatever Rodney’s thinking. He just wants to kiss him and fuck him because damn it he might not be allowed to even have _one_ date with the man but he can claim him all he wants with sex. He knows Rodney isn’t seeing other people, he’s John's in at least one way that matters.

John has Rodney on the table. Forget getting distracted by the falling china, he gets motivated further with everything that falls and breaks.

Rodney comes before him, which isn’t much of a surprise with how distracted John is. He’s too focused on the way Rodney's cheek and palms are scraping the wood, and how god damn angry he is to actually pay attention to the sex they’re having. Eventually he manages to come, out of breath and sweaty all over.

When Rodney gets up and turns around, there is no malice or fury in his expression. This wasn’t hate-sex or fight-sex for him. At least it doesn’t seem that way. John feels more confused than ever.

“Same time tomorrow?” Rodney asks after a minute’s silence and they both laugh. It’s absurd, this thing.

 _What the hell is going on here?_ John wonders and his hands go to his pocket for a pack of cigarettes that isn’t there. _What are we doing?_


	2. Chapter 2

They get into a different kind of routine, this time. They still have sex almost daily, but the casual banter’s gone, and there’s an unpleasant undertone to all their interactions now, not that it stops either of them from coming over. It sort of feels like the last few months of his marriage with Nancy, John thinks, despite there being much less history and love here. That feeling of delaying the inevitable is the same.

A few weeks into the new routine, one night, Rodney doesn’t come home at all. John doesn’t wait up for him or anything, but knows his car still isn’t there when he glances over before turning in. He ends up running into Rodney the next morning, just before his five AM run. Rodney gets dropped off by a military 6 by 6 which John _really_ hadn’t seen coming. He’d always assumed Rodney worked some corporate job, maybe remotely related to defense work.

Rodney’s dragging his feet more than walking, and both John and the driver of the 6x6 wait until Rodney’s safely inside before they move. The driver looks over at John’s door, but John makes sure to dock his head just in time. With any luck, the driver won’t care about a random jogging neighbor. He doesn’t need anybody getting curious about his off-base activities.

There’s a decent chance Rodney’s already asleep on the couch, but John still feels a pull within him. He wants to go knock on that door, ask Rodney what’s going on, and take care of him. Shaking his head as if he could shake thoughts away, he starts jogging. Whatever thoughts and questions he has, they can wait until the afternoon.

When afternoon comes, frustratingly, John finds himself unable to ask any questions to Rodney. He greets Rodney who still has bags under his eyes, then they kiss for a while on the couch, then there’s some frottage, then some more kissing.

He should leave now, he knows, but instead he follows Rodney into the kitchen and watches him make coffee with a press. Rodney’s still shirtless and the streetlight’s light hits him just right to accentuate his tired face. A sudden, dark thought occurs to John, as he flashes back to less pleasant assignments he’s had, or heard of. “What exactly do you do for the military?” he asks.

Rodney turns to him, startled. “What?” he asks.

“I saw. This morning on my run. The 6 by 6. You work for the military, clearly. What do you do for them, exactly, that makes you think you can’t have a relationship anymore?” he asks dangerously. Why had it never occurred to him? John knows this town, he knows the military, and he knows exactly how soul-crushing some technical assignments are. Is Rodney working on weapon design? Has he made things that kill people? Does he have nightmares about it?

Rodney notices the look John’s giving him, and quickly turns back to his cup. “Contract work,” he says quietly, fidgeting. Compared to his usual lengthy descriptions of his mental prowess and interesting, nobel-deserving work, the short reply is suspicious to say the least.

“What contract work has you working till the morning? There’s no deadline like that unless it’s an active situation. They wouldn’t force a civilian to stay that long for no reason.”

“Why do you care? Weren’t we keeping things light?” Rodney responds, but his voice is quiet and the ghost of a fake smile is on his face.

“We’re past that, I think,” John chuckles darkly. “So, Rodney? Gonna tell me what’s going on?”

Rodney sips some of his coffee, wincing at how hot it is. “I don’t kill people, if that’s what you’re asking.” _It is._

“What then?”

“You’re a flyboy, right? You can figure it out.” Rodney curls up into himself a bit, and faces away from John, staring out of the window.

John's head is spinning. _”Flyboy?”_ he thinks. _What’s he talking about? What does this have to do-- Is it the air force? Are he and Rodney working on the same base and he never knew? How?_

Rodney’s making it sound like a puzzle that could be solved, so there must be other clues.

“I was hoping you would never ask,” Rodney says slowly, frowning. Then, he turns to John. He sounds distant, but not sad, when he speaks again. “I really should get to bed. You know where the door is by now, I suspect. Goodnight.” He gives John a nervous pat on the shoulder, and retreats to his bedroom.

John is too curious about the puzzle he’s been given to respond, or be offended at being unceremoniously kicked out.

_I can figure this out. “Flyboy”. Something about USAF branch overall, or was the “fly” bit a clue as well? But if he’s designing planes, that wouldn’t be something to get so angsty about. What’s going on here?_

~

It’s surprisingly easy to pick up where they’d left off, before the awkwardness. John doesn’t ask Rodney out again, and their evening (and sometimes early morning) rendezvous continue with less than ten minutes of talking beforehand.

Only this time, John doesn’t hold back his instincts, or curiosity, anymore. He no longer considers himself paranoid, but on an investigation. Rodney’s privacy isn’t a big concern now, not when he’s taunted him into solving the riddle of what he does, and why he can’t be with John.

One night, he ties Rodney up, and kisses and licks him all over in an apparent game of fantasy (and, to be fair, it _is_ also hot and fun), but what he’s really doing is mapping out the condition of Rodney’s body which, looking back, he _had_ seen with some odd bruises before. He can’t imagine why an engineer - with a doctorate, and a clear lack of interest in fitness - would need to be in the field, but he can’t discount any possibility. Rodney moans, growls and begs. _We really should get kinkier_ , John thinks. But as soon as he thinks that and imagines spanking Rodney, his mind is brought back to Rodney's job, the dark look he’d had when they’d mentioned it, and the secret John is trying to uncover.

In three short weeks, John knows the following:

• Since John’s started looking, Rodney doesn’t get bruises anywhere other than his arm. It actually looks like he’s getting blood drawn by a green nurse who can’t find his vein, but the bruising is not always on the same arm, and it’s not more than once a week.  
• Other than two laptops and a briefcase that John can’t open, Rodney brings _no work_ home. John knows for a fact that Rodney works at night often, and no matter how smart, even Rodney needs either much bigger screens or printed blueprints. He can only assume the mysterious briefcase holds those.  
• Whenever Rodney has to stay overnight at - presumably - the military base, he gets the day after off. That’s significant, since both the staying overnight _and_ getting a random work day off is unusual for a civilian contractor. Surely Rodney can’t have _that_ many personal days, and he doesn’t seem the type to use them at any rate. John assumes it’s mandatory, which makes him even more curious as to what happens on the nights that Rodney stays there.

The last part is the worst of it. Whatever this project Rodney’s on, or his ongoing job is, is continuous and routine enough to have a pattern to it. This… this _keeps_ happening, whatever it is. The more John thinks about it, the less he can imagine it being a simple design assignment or temporary contract work. Whatever Rodney’s working on is big.

A thought occurs to him - and he feels tremendously stupid as soon as it does. _They know._ The military, certainly, knows about John. And Rodney. John sits up straigther, as if he can feel himself being watched right in that moment.

He doesn’t know what he would do if his CO asked him about Rodney, but that conversation couldn’t possibly end well. Whatever John did, Rodney wouldn’t appreciate it. Either John lies about Rodney, proving his point that he doesn’t care, or he aggravates their employer. John might have only a piece of the other man, but he’s determined to keep it, so he has to walk a very careful line, and not interfere with Rodney’s work.

The fact that they haven’t done anything yet must mean that whatever Rodney’s doing is a) important enough and b) not negatively affected by John’s presence. Hell, they might even think the “release” is making Rodney more productive. The thought makes John both a bit proud and a bit sick at the same time. Doesn’t mean he’ll give up, though. He’s determined to have those big hands and soft brown hair in his life. He hates the thought of never getting to see or touch Rodney again.

_Dave’s right, I **am** in love, aren’t I?_

He’s not sure what’s worse: That his brother was right, or that he’s in love with a man who won’t love him back.

He wonders when that happened. Sure, they’d had chemistry and yes, the attraction was obviously there, that’s why he has slept with the man exclusively for months, and asked him out. But _love?_ When had _that_ snuck in?

John settles down on his couch, and turns towards the window, the one that faces Rodney's own living room. He lights a cigarette from his emergency stash, and watches Rodney sleep with a thick green book laying on his chest. John's own chest feels the weight of it, and he tries not to dwell on the feelings he’s getting, staring at the other man through the windows.

~

It takes a few days for their schedules to sync up again. Rodney drops by and immediately kisses John. Rodney’s gentle, and more compliant than usual. Hasn’t complained about John’s stubble or the idiots at his workplace even once, minutes after he’s entered the house. He even lets John take him to the bedroom. _One more thing to note,_ John thinks, _Did they do whatever it was in a bedroom? Is Rodney scared of closed doors?_

He tests this theory by throwing Rodney onto the bed, shutting the door behind them, and towering over him as menacingly as he can, naked with a hard-on. All Rodney does is give a little chuckle, and smile. He doesn’t seem bothered at all. _Then why have I been getting aches all over, having sex in living rooms and kitchens?_ John wonders, and strikes out the bullet point from his mental list. Whatever happened to Rodney in his time with the military, it has nothing to do with--

Rodney has an injury.

Not a fresh one, but a new _scar_. Right below his liver from the looks of it, he’s seen enough hasty bandaging to know.

John pulls back further up, and sits back with his two legs around Rodney's body. Rodney's shirt is off by this point, and he’s working on getting his trousers unzipped to catch up with John's state of undress. Any other time, John would either not look at all, lost in their making out, or stare at Rodney with hunger. Now though, in investigation mode, he’s looking with confusion and a touch of fear.

It takes Rodney a few seconds to realize that John’s frozen on the spot. When he does, he stops fiddling with his fly and looks up at John. “John?” he asks tentatively. John can’t even imagine what his expression must look like, but it can’t be pleasant if Rodney is giving him that look.

“Where were you?” John asks, and runs his fingers over the new scar on Rodney's torso. Rodney hisses in pain. _Scars don’t hurt_ , John thinks, getting more confused by the second.

“Er-- Today? I was at work, I had to-- The meeting took longer than planned, so I was late and…” Rodney's voice drifts off. He knows that’s not what John is asking.

“No, earlier. When we couldn’t meet because you had to _supervise_ something or the other. When you didn’t come back home for _days_.”

Rodney takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes. “I should go.”

John pointedly shifts himself on top of Rodney, showing that he has no intention of letting that happen. His erection is already lost, but he won’t get off of Rodney, not until he has answers. “You should answer my question,” he says dangerously.

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” Rodney says defensively, and looks away.

“No,” John agrees. “But I want you to.” His fingers hover over the scar again, but he doesn’t touch it. “Who did this to you?”

Rodney squeezes his eyes shut. “John, it’s fine. If-- If it bothers you then I’ll keep my shirt on, I--”

“That’s not what I said,” John spits out. Does Rodney really think John will let this go? Because that’s ridiculous, Rodney’s all John wants. “Rodney, did somebody at work do this to you?”

Rodney's eyes spread open immediately, and widen in shock. It’s the look of somebody who’s been caught, not somebody appalled by a shocking suggestion. He’s still avoiding looking at John.

 _Rodney, please tell me that’s not it. Give me a different explanation, tell me you went to the doctors and had a biopsy or something._ John feels his guts tangle themselves, and wants to throw up.

Rodney slowly turns his head back to John, and studies his face, the way he does sometimes when John says something - John could never figure out what triggers it. He had thought he got that look whenever he got close to Rodney's secret, and now, with a sinking feeling, he realizes he must have been right.

“Why would you ask that?” Rodney asks, still staring at John's face, trying to read something in his eyes and John doesn’t know what, so he tries to look back as kindly as he can.

“Rodney, I haven’t been in active combat in a long time, but I’ve done a few tours… And that doesn’t look like a random injury you can get in the lab.” John's eyes dart toward Rodney's chest again before looking him in the eyes. “It looks deliberate.” He feels that’s enough of an explanation, and Rodney's frown says that it is.

“Yes, someone at work did it, but not like you think. Not because she wanted to, and not to harm me.”

“Someone cut you, and… How even does one make it heal like that, so quick? Was it a doctor? Are you… are they testing something on you? You need to go to the hospital to get checked out, you can’t trust the doctors on the project.”

Rodney laughs darkly. “A hospital wouldn’t have helped, John.”

“Rodney, I don't think any less of you,” John says, as calmly as he can manage. He tries to remember more from his training about dealing with victims at warzones, but his mind is blank. Nobody prepares _anybody_ for this talk. “It doesn’t matter what contract you signed, or what you’re testing for them. Is it a tracker? I can’t imagine why else they want to cut engineers’ spleins.

Rodney gives John an odd, condescending look, then sighs. “You should get off of me for this. Put some underwear on. Maybe even pants.”

At least five different sentences of protest - most of them including expletives - cross through John's mind, but he puts his boxers back on.

“Well?” he demands once he is seated on the edge of the bed, looking at Rodney who’s sitting as well, as far as he can be from John.

“I’ll tell you more than I’m technically allowed to, trusting your discretion.”

When Rodney doesn’t immediately continue, and appears to be waiting for confirmation from John, instead of strangling Rodney, somehow he manages to talk. “Rodney, I swear to god…”

“I work for the USAF as CSO of a highly classified project, and I got shot, and they used technology no hospital has to heal my wound yesterday.” Rodney says quickly.

“You're a what now?”

“Chief Science Officer for a classified USAF project,” Rodney says, raising an eyebrow. He glances down at John's hand and John realizes he has it in a fist now. Rodney doesn't seem bothered by it, even though he’s not a particularly brave man and has literally shrieked in surprise before when John moved too fast.

John looks at Rodney for a while, his mind trying to wrap itself around the fact that the abrasive but overall polite and kind neighbor is a ranking member of a USAF project who gets _shot at_.

“Your building got infiltrated,” John finds himself saying, only half aware of the stream of consciousness that led to the words. “They kidnapped you.”

“Half right,” Rodney says, amused. “I did get kidnapped - very briefly, mind you - but it was us who went into… They didn’t infiltrate the m...building. Well, not this time, at any rate. If they had, we’d be in much bigger trouble.”

“Why would you leave the base?” John asks, still confused. “You’re a civilian.”

“Oh,” Rodney says, blinking. “Yes. Well. True, but we’ve found it useful to have...civilian guidance on some missions.”

“Why?”

“Because the technology is beyond almost all officers on the project, and when they face it, they need a solution _fast_ ,” Rodney says simply.

“Do you go on these missions a lot? Is there a roster so you know when you have to be ready for?” John asks, wondering if it would be rude to get up to grab a cigarette now. His pack is all the way in the kitchen.

“I--” Rodney starts answering, then stops. “Are we really talking about the scheduling of my job?” He stares at John, confused.

John shrugs. “Seems fair that we should, doesn’t it? I mean, I work for the USAF as you know, but clearly not in the same division. I could do some guesswork, but you’re more of a straight-forward kind of guy, aren’t you Rodney? I doubt you want me to guess at the things I want to know.”

“Like what?” Rodney asks, guarded.

“Like I said, your schedule. How often, and how far you’re expected to travel on foot. I can’t imagine you got shot there if you were in a vehicle.” He shrugs again, not knowing what else to do with his body, then starts playing with his fingers absentmindedly. “Not to say that you need to change your appearance but, well… Shouldn’t you be working out more? Ensure you can handle the combat situation?”

“‘Work out more’?” Rodney repeats dumbly. John nods, fast, a few times. “You want to know why I don’t join your 5AM torture sessions?”

“Well not _why_ , just… Do you even have a weapon issued? I haven’t seen any guns in your house.”

“I don’t have a gun,” Rodney says slowly, still confused. “I mean, I’ve held a-- some version of a weapon, I suppose, but not a gun. And it was a one time thing.”

“Good,” John says with a lopsided grin. “It’ll be fun teaching you.”

Rodney's eyes dart around the floor, as if he is looking for something he’s dropped. “Maybe I should go,” he says carefully.

“It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it now, but we will need to, at some point,” John says thoughtfully, then scoots closer to Rodney. “For now, I’d rather go back to what we were doing.”

“You want to have sex? _Now?_ ” Rodney asks incredulously.

“No time like the present,” John says with a laugh.

“You’re crazy,” Rodney says, bit the left corner of his mouth is twitching as if he’s holding back a smile.

“I’ve heard that from more than one CO, if you’d believe it,” John says, nodding. Then he moves closer, and puts a hand on Rodney's thigh.

Rodney takes a deep breath. “Well, alright then.”

When they’re done, neither of them make a move to get up. John looks sideways at Rodney who has one arm over his head, covering his eyes, as he is catching his breath. John smiles. Rodney will probably spend the night. The thought of waking up with him makes John happier than he expected.

After a short rest, they both turn to their sides and look at each other, running their hands lazily over each other’s bodies.

“I can’t cook,” John starts suddenly, “But I do know some excellent restaurants around here.”

Rodney gives him a look. “You’re hungry?”

“Not _now_ , of course.” John waves a hand in the air dismissively before returning it to settle down on Rodney's side. “For our date.”

Rodney's smile drops, and he sighs. “John--”

“Obviously you were holding out because of your…” John waves his hand in the air in a vague gesture. “Job confidentiality issue. Now with that secret out of the way, I don’t see why--”

“It’s not _‘out of the way’_ , John. I can’t ever tell you what I do, and you can’t ever ask, and you _won’t_ be able to handle that. I’ll be gone for weeks at a time sometimes, and never be able to tell you anything meaningful about my work, where I spend just about every waking moment.” Rodney sounds more confused than angry.

“Sure. Right. So I think Italian is the classic choice, but there’s this brilliant Indian place right around the corner.”

“John, do you really not care?” Rodney asks tentatively.

“Of course I care, you ass,” John says with an uncharacteristically soft tone. “I’m already thinking of how I’d like to kick the ass of whoever is in charge of your project because they expect civilians to have zero training. And that I don’t want you to put in an official complaint, because whoever the military put in charge of training you, they won’t be that good, and I _know_ I can do better. Things I’m going to teach you can save your life, if they really are dragging you into operations. Of course I care.”

Rodney gulps audibly. John tries not to think about licking and sucking at his neck. “But you want to date me, still?”

“Rodney,” John sighs with the impatience of a boot camp trainer, “You could have told me you were a friend of my dad’s, and I’d still want you.”

Rodney furrows his brows and pulls his neck back a little. “What?”

 _Right_ , John thinks. _He doesn’t know about the Sheppard family traditions, or how deeply I hate them._

“I would want to be with you even if you actually _had_ a big dark secret.”

“And being a...friend of your father’s... is worse to you than having a boyfriend whose life, other than what happens in our houses, is a complete mystery to you?” Rodney laughs.

“Yeah,” John responds with a grin. “You haven’t met my dad - thank god.”

Rodney seems to think this over, and John waits all of a minute before his patience runs out, and he gives the side of Rodney's lips a quick peck. Rodney huffs in return, and turns to John with that mind-melting smile of his.

“Well, that’s not how I imagined this conversation would go,” Rodney says, raising his eyebrows. “I mean, of course I knew you’d figure it out eventually, you’re _in the USAF,_ but I thought you would, you know… Stop this.” His eyes go back and forth between them.

“Couldn’t if I wanted to,” John says honestly. “I don’t know what you’ve done to me, Rodney McKay, but somewhere between meeting you attempting to open your front door with both your hands full with a coffee cup and a laptop, and shoving my tongue into your mouth on a daily basis, I…” _You’re a brave, **decorated** officer, Sheppard_. “I got hooked. You’ve got me.”

Rodney slowly rolls on top of John, not stopping smiling for a moment, then looks down at him affectionately. John pulls him down for a kiss. “Round two, then?” he whispers mischievously when their lips finally part.

Rodney lets out a deep, happy laugh. “You’re crazy, John.”

“Why does everybody in the USAF keep saying that?”

~

A couple of hours later, they’re done with their second round _and_ their post-coital nap, and they move to the kitchen for something to drink. They’d only bothered to put boxers and t-shirts on, but as Rodney keeps shifting on the kitchen chair, John figures he’d probably appreciate his hoodie.

“Be right back,” he says, and Rodney barely nods at him while sipping his beer.

Within a minute, John’s back in the kitchen with Rodney’s hoodie. Rodney smiles when he sees that, but somehow John manages to tilt it in a way to make something drop out of it when he hands it over. He catches it before it fully gets out of the pocket, whatever it is (keychain?) and hands the hoodie back to Rodney.

Then, instead of giving John a grateful kiss, Rodney shouts. “What!”

“It’s your hoodie, genius,” John drawls.

“I know _that,”_ Rodney snaps, then frowns at his hoodie which, now that John’s looking at it, has one pocket glowing blue.

Rodney looks at the pocket miserably, not bothering to take out the keychain or whatever it is, and sighs. “I really was hoping that I was wrong,” he says, then looks up at John. “I’d ignored it last time, but I… I need to call someone now, John. From the USAF.”

John tenses. “What’s going on?”

“This light,” Rodney says, raising his hoodie a little. “It goes off when it detects a specific gene pattern. I didn’t bring it over on purpose, I was just so tired after days off-- away from home and I didn’t drop it off at home before coming here.” He looks truly sorry about it.

“What’s the problem?”

“You’re in the USAF,” Rodney sighs. “They’ll make you join the program.”

“Your project?” John asks, and Rodney nods. “So it really is some sort of test. Specific genes needed…”

“I can’t say more right now,” Rodney says, getting up. “Let’s get this over with.”

~

No matter what his COs have said or thought in the past, John has respect for his profession, his duty, and certainly General O’Neil. It doesn’t take him long to decide to join the SGC. The unsaid reason Rodney had been so sad, of course, is that he can’t openly carry on a gay relationship in a military base. DADT repeal or no, that won’t work.

Or so he thinks, until, only a few days in, Colonel Carter asks John to have coffee with her in town, outside of the mountain. He’s not stupid enough to refuse.

“I’ll cut to the chase, Major,” Carter says as she hands over a cup to John. “I have no inlincation, nor right, to get into anyone’s personal life. But McKay is making life even more miserable than usual in the labs, and I fear there might be a public lynching soon.”

John would love to defend his friend, but, well… He’s heard the screams. Most are Rodney’s, too, not the scared or crying scientists. He clears his throat. “How can I help, ma’am?”

“Why did you break up?” Carter asks bluntly.

The fact that John doesn’t spit coffee all over her like as if they’re in a movie is frankly commendable, John thinks. “Excuse me, ma’am?” he asks, consciously keeping his face relaxed.

“We’re not on base, and even if we were, it wouldn’t matter. The mountain’s different, we have much, much more pressing concerns. You don’t have to lie to me, he looks after you like a kicked puppy.” She grins. “At first it was fun to watch, not gonna lie. As brilliant as he is, it _is_ good for his ego for him to get kicked down a notch or two every now and again. But now it looks like you’re not making up and, well…”

“I don’t know if I follow, ma’am.”

“If you didn’t break up with him for a personal reason, if it was because of this assignment, please get back together with him and bring back some semblance of peace to the mountain. I’m about to have officers and scientists quit or commit murder or both.”

“I can do that?” John asks, suspicious still.

“Sheppard you calm McKay down and you can do pretty much anything you want in the mountain. Now, I can’t promise you that would carry to other assignments, or that the SGC could protect you in some unusual way. I can only promise you that within the SGC, you don’t have to worry.”

The main issue is that as high ranking and important as Carter is, she’s not who rules the mountain. “The General…”

“Was the one who asked me to ask you,” Carter finishes for him. “It goes against his personal policy to have any uncomfortable conversation he could make somebody else do, instead.”

“Huh,” John says intelligently. Carter smiles.

 _We should take some days off,_ John thinks, trying to wonder if he can convince SG-3 to take tomorrow’s mission in their stead. He doesn’t think Rodney _or_ he will be in any shape to go on a mission or even walk, tomorrow.

On their first actual leave, they should go to Miami, he thinks. Then Canada would be nice, see where Rodney’s from. And the year after that, maybe they’ll go to South of France. Because there _will_ be a next year, with Rodney beside him. Many next years. He’ll make sure of it.


End file.
